The Soccer Mom
“Get in the car! We’re going to be late,” I rush Dylan out the door, grabbing his cleats on my way out.
If it weren’t for my unreliable ex-husband, we wouldn’t be in this situation yet again. As usual, he dropped Dylan off late, exhausted, and hungry.
The coach has never said anything about his star player arriving late, but the intensity in his gaze every time tells me more than words ever will.
He thinks I’m a horrible mother, always showing up to practice and games late with a half-starved son.
I know how it looks. But I can’t exactly blame everything on my ex-husband without looking like a bitter woman. So, I always glare right back at the sour man.
Let the coach and anyone else judge. Without my son on the team, they wouldn’t be on track to win the state finals.
“Buckle up,” I tell my son, who is only half paying attention to me as he shoves a sandwich down his throat.
He’s a growing boy, only just hitting fifteen, so he needs the calories, especially since he is about to run around for an hour.
I honestly don’t know how he does it. I think his body has simply adapted to this new schedule he is forced to endure due to my divorce.
My heart aches for the pain and inconvenience the divorce has caused him. He doesn’t show resentment or irritation, though. He just deals with it. He’s so strong.
The field is ten minutes away, but I pull up to the gate in eight. Dylan jumps out of the car.
“Thanks, mom!” he says.
“Good luck!” I call after him, but he’s already halfway to the field.
His coach instantly targets me with those blazing eyes. I’m a hundred yards away, but he still finds me. It makes my spine tingle dangerously.
“f*ck that guy,” I say under my breath, pulling away to look for a parking spot.
By the time I take my stadium seat, the game is well underway. Dylan is doing his thing, running circles around the other team.
Gerald, Dylan’s coach, returns his attention to the game. I no longer feel his judgment, even though my own always lingers.
As expected, we beat the other team. Dylan sends me a text after the game asking if he can go over to a friend’s place to celebrate.
Of course, I tell him it’s okay. I’ll do anything to keep his spirits high. And leaning on friends during a tough time at home is so much better than him caving in on himself like some children do.
Some of the other parents are talking, but I’m not in the mood to chit chat. I return to my car on the far side of the field house—one of the only parking spots remaining since I was late.
And it seems my luck just keeps getting worse because Gerald is also walking to his car, which is apparently near mine.
I should have known he would be parked out back—it’s the quickest way into the field house.
It’s impossible to ignore each other. Not that he would allow me to ignore him—he’s already coming toward me and staring.
“Good game, coach,” I say.
“Dylan was outstanding, as usual,” he remarks curtly.
Regardless of his judgment of me, I know his admiration for my son is real. “Yes, he was…”
“Have you thought about the leagues I mentioned? If he wants to play in college or professionally, he needs to be competing with more advanced players.”
Gerald is walking beside me now. I realize he is walking away from his car and toward mine. It appears I will not be getting out of this conversation quickly.
“Yes. The only problem is getting him to the games when Max has him. He’s not exactly reliable when it comes to being on time.” Sourness tinges my words.
Gerald looks at me sternly. “Max, your husband?”
“Ex-husband,” I correct him.
He makes a sound. Something like an approving grunt, but I can’t be sure. “Does he not support his son’s future as a soccer player, or is it something else?”
Gerald has never been so inquisitive about my life, but I know he is only concerned about helping Dylan.
“Max is being spiteful. He loves his son, but anything that inconveniences my life takes priority. We’ll work it out, though. Thank you,” I say sincerely.
We reach my car. I unlock the door and open it, hopping into the driver’s seat. Gerald plants a hand on the side of my car, stepping into the space between it and my open door, halting my attempt to close it.
“I find it hard to believe a man would want to treat you poorly, divorced or not,” he says in a low voice.
I don’t understand what he means. He doesn’t know the details of my divorce.
Many men would also be spiteful if the court ruled that he should share custody and give up half his paycheck for cheating on me. Frankly, I think it serves him right.
“What I mean to say, Kate, is that you’re a wonderful mother—even I can see how hard you work. What type of man wouldn’t respect a woman like you for raising their child so well?
“You deserve praise, not to be treated poorly by a man who never deserved you in the first place.”
My blood turns cold. Then hot. Gerald’s intense gaze returns, zeroing in on me as if I’m the goal and he’s the soccer ball.
I’m not sure what’s gotten into him today. I always thought he hated me. I thought he pegged me as a lackadaisical mother.
“Thank you,” I finally mutter.
Gerald smiles. The expression transforms his face. He’s so handsome. Young…and handsome. Suddenly, I feel like my car is getting smaller.
I try to excuse myself. “Well, I better get going.”
“Where are you going? I heard the boys gossiping about some party tonight, and Dylan isn’t in the car.” He peers around the car, amused.
Unable to help myself, I laugh. The coach and I have never had a lighthearted conversation like this, but I’m beginning to relax.
“Yes. He’s with friends tonight. I’m just going home. I’ll probably have a glass of wine and take a bath.”
Gerald’s eyes skim down my body as soon as I mention a bath. My lower lip drops open as the realization hits me.
He’s into me!
“Care for some company?” he asks brazenly.
My mouth is still hanging agape. Gerald reaches up and lifts my chin, a chuckle slipping through his lips.
“Did I say something shocking, Kate?”
I swallow. “Um… Company drinking wine?”
“Sure. And other things, if you’d like.”
I find myself nodding. His rewarding smile is enough.
Gerald leans in. At his height, he towers next to the car, but he bends down easily, his head ducking under the roof.
He reaches a hand around my steering wheel and presses the ignition. The car roars to life, blocking out the sound of my pounding heart as Gerald gets close to me.
“Let’s not waste time then. I’ll follow you.”
“Okay…,” I breathe heavily. My breath fills his face as he moves away, still bent over.
He must feel the tension growing in the air because he pauses his retreat.
Our eyes lock. No words are exchanged.
Suddenly, something carnal takes over my body, and I lunge for him. My fingers dive into his curly hair, tugging him forward, and I crush my lips onto his.
Gerald falls onto me with hasty movements. I’m not sure when it happens—between my tongue plunging into his mouth or his thumb scraping along my jaw—but he’s turning off the car and pulling me out.
My back hits the back of my car door as Gerald aligns his body with mine. He presses into me, the hard planes of his body ridged and enticing. His hands snake up the sides of my thighs. Then he lifts me.
The movement catches me off guard, and our lips disconnect. I’m panting. Gerald’s lips glisten with my saliva, proof of our wild kiss. He wraps my legs around his waist, pinning me to the car with his pelvis.
“Jesus, Kate… I don’t think I can wait,” he says.
I feel a new hardness pressing into my hips. The spot between my thighs heats up and aches.
This is wrong. So wrong. I haven’t been with a man since my ex-husband and I got divorced a year ago. And this man—my son’s soccer coach—has to be ten years younger than me, maybe more!
“Gerald. I don’t know if we should do this,” I say.
My body says otherwise, though, because when he dismisses my words by kissing my neck, I melt, a moan slipping free.
With his lips and tongue working my neck, he replies, “Why not? I want you, Kate. You want me. We’ve been eye-f*cking each other for months. It’s been long enough.”
Is that what we’ve been doing?
I recall the battle of our stares.
Maybe we were~ eye-f*cking each other. By the way, my body and, if I’m being honest, my mind are reacting to Gerald, I want this.~
“Okay,” I say, tilting my hips forward.
His co*ck presses achingly hard against my core, driving me wild. The thin fabric of my leggings is a hindrance, but not for Gerald.
He wraps one arm around my waist while the other supports my backside as he opens the door to the back of my SUV and lays me in the backseat.
“This is not how I normally treat a woman, and you deserve much more than to be f*cked in the backseat of your car, but I don’t plan on stopping here.
“I’m going to f*ck you senseless tonight, but first, we both need to get off.”
I couldn’t agree more.
